


Your Echo

by leporidae



Category: She-Ra and the Princesses of Power
Genre: Angst, F/F, Flashbacks, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Nightmares, post-Season 1
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2018-11-23
Packaged: 2019-08-28 02:55:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16715241
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leporidae/pseuds/leporidae
Summary: A bitter past, and the promise of a bitter future.





	Your Echo

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed the new She-Ra reboot and it had a lot more depth than I was expecting, so I wanted to write a little character sketch while I was still motivated. It's a bit messy (and not very original) because I was just slapping words down while half asleep, but I decided to post it anyway. Don't know if I'll write more for this fandom or not, but this at least was a nice break from the Secret Santa gifts I've been working on.

_TThe blade of She-Ra's sword hovers inches from her chest, and all behind Adora are her newfound friends, her_ better _friends, egging her on to do the deed._

_Glimmer's voice. Bow's voice. A chorus of princesses, their voices swelling in unison  —_

_Do it! End her!_

_The rebellion can win!_

_Adora smiles peacefully as the sword swings down, the executioner's blade, not even acknowledging the pleading in her former comrade's mismatched eyes._

_She tries to call out — this isn't you, this isn't_ us  _— but her body is frozen, her throat lead._

_Somewhere in the sea of voices is Shadow Weaver's mirthless laughter._

_And Adora seems so happy —_

Catra wakes shrieking, a flurry of claws and screaming and grief, and not even the strength of Scorpia’s arms wrapped around her can quell her violent torment.  
  
“Oh, you’re awake,” Entrapta says cheerfully, scuttling out from god-knows-where in the air vents. “Gosh, that’s a lot of noise you’re making. For a moment I thought my ears were just ringing again. ...Also, I _may_ have dropped a screw in my ear canal while I was tinkering. I forgot.”  
  
Scorpia’s smile is strained. “Um, Entrapta — you might want to be a little more, uh — I mean, right now, Catra is —“  
  
“Catra is _fine_ ,” Catra snarls as she slips nimbly out of Scorpia’s grasp. Peevishly she turns to face Entrapta, tail flicking side to side. “What’s with the goofy grin?”  
  
“Am I smiling?” Entrapta drums on her visor — _tap tap tap tap tap_ — each sound causing Catra’s ears to twitch. “Oh... hmm... why _was_ I smiling...? Oh! I was talking to Emily, gauging the development of her social awareness in my logs. Watching her AI evolve is so _fascinating._ ”  
  
“Emily?” Catra echoes, scowling. “Oh, uh — the robot. Right."  _Might want to gauge your own social awareness first._  "Well, I’m glad you two had a _great_ conversation. I’ll be going now.”  
  
“Going? Going where?” Scorpia moves to follow her, smiling broadly. “If you need a friend, I'd be happy to tag along. I'm always down for friendship adventures with my best bud.”  
  
“It’s not a _friendship adventure,_ and no, I want to be alone,” Catra replies testily. “You’re really too much sometimes.” There's no real bite to her words, simply exasperation; Scorpia's unabashed loyalty is appreciated, but the proximityof it gives Catra no room to brood uninterrupted.  
  
As she exits the room, she hears her two comrades — the two _princesses_ — tittering excitedly to one another.

 _Isn’t Catra great?_ ( Scorpia’s voice.)  _She's so strong and independent. And she just got another promotion!_

 _She’s so eager to listen to my discoveries!_ (Entrapta’s voice.) _In all my years of theorizing, I’ve never found anyone else so —_

The door shuts, and the conversation is muted.

_I’m “great,” huh?_

The click of her nails echoes off the walls as Catra ambles down the hall, no destination in mind. In the past her ears would perk up and her fur would stand on end every time she crossed the corridor, but that was because Shadow Weaver always had her eye on Catra, lying in wait to spit insults in her face and tear down her accomplishments in favor of Adora, the traitor. But there's no longer any reason to let paranoia plague her — Shadow Weaver is finished.

Catra herself had ended her.

She can’t help but smile almost maniacally at the memory of their last encounter, when Shadow Weaver had cried out in despair as her dreams were dashed along with the crystal Catra had shattered. Watching the sorceress who had once tormented her lose her composure and fade to nothing had been nearly euphoric.

_I’m better than you. I’m stronger than you._

_And stronger than your_ precious _Adora._

For years she had endured Shadow Weaver’s beatings, both verbal and physical. She had forced the whimpers of pain back down her throat when Shadow Weaver struck her, lest she alert Adora to her plight, because Adora was _not_ her white knight. Her ears would flatten against her head when Shadow Weaver raised her voice, her hackles prickling with dread. _What useless piece of trash are you going to call me today?_ Catra would think dully, and then she’d sit glassy eyed through another lecture on why Adora was so much _stronger_ and more _flawless_ and a better soldier than she would _ever_ be, and how Catra may as well give up and die, because no one would ever care about her.

But Hordak had chosen Catra over Shadow Weaver, hadn’t he?

And yet out of all the vile punishments Catra had endured, the worst had come at the very end. Shadow Weaver had such little faith in her that she had been willing to wipe Adora’s memory just to usurp Catra as Force Captain, willing to overlook her transgression of turning against the Horde simply to humiliate Catra, to ground her into the dirt under her heel. But in a twisted way, that had also been the greatest compliment, hadn't it? Because Shadow Weaver had been too afraid of her power to let her rise to it. Shadow Weaver knew Catra would overtake her if given the chance, because she's  _better_ than that cowardly illusionist. She knew that unlike Adora, Catra would never be satisfied sitting pretty as the Horde's perfect little figurehead.

No, she wants the Horde to  _belong_ to her.

Catra grits her teeth, eyes flashing at nothing. “Shadow Weaver can fucking _choke_ ,” she hisses under her breath, and though she tries to smile, there's somehow still no peace for her. Even now, Shadow Weaver’s silhouette looms when she closes her eyes. 

_I’m more valuable than that little turncoat will ever be._

Oh, but she can't hate Adora either, not really. Only a fool would convince herself that the hammering of her heart at the Princess Prom and the flush of heat in her face was solely due to hate. In the sugary lighting she had dipped Adora down with a wicked grin, and even then her claws itched to tangle themselves in Adora’s perfect hair and mark her perfect skin with trails of blood, to push her down and climb atop her and prove to her that she was superior, to have Adora beg for Catra’s touch and grovel with reddened cheeks and loosened clothes pooling at her feet —

_She’s a princess._

How bitter is the constant reminder. Catra’s nails dig into her arms as she snarls, the guttural sound bouncing off the walls until it seems to turn back on her.

Adora had been born special — Shadow Weaver always knew it, and sometimes Catra had wondered, too. But her magical destiny had never been intended for the Horde, had it? A few minutes of swinging an enchanted sword around, and she had decided she was just _too_ special for someone like Catra, which is why she’d left without a second thought. It had taken all of a day for Adora to decide that a princess she’d just met was more important than someone she’d known her whole life.

Well, that’s just fine. The feeling is mutual.

_Adora doesn’t matter at all._

(If that’s true, then why does the name never stop ringing through her mind?)

_Adora, I’m Force Captain now. Why aren’t you proud of me?_

_I’m strong. I did what you couldn't. And yet you look at me with disgust._

_I’m not going to abandon my life like you did. I’m going to serve the Horde. Why are you always convinced I’m wrong and you’re right?_

_You never believed in me._

_You never trusted me._

_Your promise meant nothing._

_Liar!_

_Adora, Adora, Adora._

A purple hand reaches from the air vent to grab her face.

Catra hisses and leaps back on all fours, lips contorted into an ugly grimace. _Shit —_ it’s just Entrapta, _dammit_. She’s still not used to this techie weirdo appearing at random, and it takes all her self-control not to strike at Entrapta’s cheeks with claws unsheathed.

“Whoa there, chief. You made a pretty scary sound a moment ago. Did you step on something? I think Emily may have shed one of her bolts. Sorry about that. Ooh, but while I was talking to Scorpia I had another theory about the runestone! Well, I thought maybe you’d wanna hear about it. You _do_ wanna hear about it, right?”

_Ugh, she talks SO much —_

But Adora abandoned her, too, because Entrapta’s not perfect. Like Catra and Scorpia, she doesn’t fit into Adora’s perfect little world.

_Then I guess the three of us have just gotta mess up Adora’s "perfect little world," hmm? After all, it’s only fair._

Catra smiles sweetly.

“You know I’m listening.”


End file.
